As the night creeps through
a crack in the curtains.
I lift a bottle high once more,
take a last pull on my cigarette
and cast it to the ashtray
in a perfect semi-circle.
Yawning back through memories of her
peeling a pear in June
I blink myself into forgetfulness
and then turn to face
the comfortable side of the settee.
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the East wind blows
catching a snow storm
holding childhood dreams
—–
mayfly
in the autumn dusk
on a tsunami wave
—–
Father’s Day
getting to choose
the reflection for himself
—–
traffic lights
looking both ways
on the road of life
—–
winter sunrise
a trail of thoughts
down memory lane
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What about burning wood? It’s warm, there’s no harm.
Aged by intense heat of sunlight, you know that’s right
It shrinks small and turns as thin as itself, the stick, though some are thick.
There is something about those golden flames
Fidgeting and flickering just like in the game.
Ever so eager to dance around the kettle
As it rattles a song of a battle.
Don’t despise them just because it’s summer
Sooner or later it’ll be winter.
Make sure you fit in those sweaters
Oh! look over the horizon, it’s coming now there’s no waiting for later.
As fire tirelessly chews and smokes away the wood
Its scent found a permanent place in my senses, to me it’s like a food.
When I was young I didn’t drink gin
But a knew a man, a boy back then
Who ate and drank noting but gin
Gin in a glass
Gin in a cup
Gin in a brownie
and gin with
The rest of the sup.
It’s all forgotten,
flushed down the drain.
What has caused you sorrow,
once caused me pain.
Borrow those
Happy hours
I want to count
The time layers
Smell the minutes
And tiny seconds
Float like petals
In dense tequila
under the blue
Death light
Soaking in
past images
And late evening
metaphors
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leaves paper the sky; spreading hands shielding
the blaze of a sultry day from the tinder box
crumble threading our journey through the trees
as pages turning diary like to once before
when youth’s lantern faces gleaming
we shone with song more deliciously ardent
than the apple buds’ danced imaginings.
the circle full, the trunks sawn and strange,
pressed to a paper of our own printed work
where we write of that day’s woodland walk
and those fierce rent wandering words
fixing forever breathing, igniting whole
the flame leaping blaze of those tiger thoughts
of that shady sunned apple grown afternoon.
More at https://www.jmiddletonpoems.com/.
My mind a sky tumbled; a glass of thought.
I want to pour on to paper pearled drops
Of dew to quench the hungry, thirsty pages.
Bluely burned and lit words are forming you
Into a being of strange landscapes glowing
Dangerously; death darkly brooding and rank.
Each mental recess an avenue of despair.
You channel rivulets of words pain-bound
To a sea of messages sliding silver-grey
Beneath my hands. Pain, loss and soft beauty too
Shivers and something silk and richly woven
Has begun to sew itself to my clouded
Mind, despite the angry disapproving
Unbelieving staid stares and prying glances.
Past is alive and a throbbing agony
And all memory is vermillion.
as bones dry
tears irrigate landscapes
blushed cheeks,
running creeks
of mascara blues
dark shadows oversee
graveyards of feelings
and epitaphs of irony
form words on stone monuments to the dead
fantasies
of forever intended “i do’s”
i walk through this silent storm
during partially moonlit nights
and think of you, and you and you
and find no words
to etch into my stone-cold memory
for you or you or you
three shadows follow me along the walk
and my hand draped limply at my side
no ghosts i want to hold onto
just gnarled fingers of pain disfigured
dreams
as bones dry
as bones dry
i cry to no one in particular
and then gather my tears like ashes in an urn
and toss them over my shoulder
moving on
thankful for that minuscule slit of moonlight
that stuck around for the finale.
Water under the bridge,
flooded my memory.
My thoughts became history.
If I could just let the water continue
to flow, to get past my misery.